


Let Us Be Silent, That We May Hear the Whispers of the Gods

by gyzym



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-17
Updated: 2010-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyzym/pseuds/gyzym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus Lupin doesn't want to hear it--not tomorrow and not yesterday, but certainly not right <i>now</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Us Be Silent, That We May Hear the Whispers of the Gods

"Fuck," Sirius hisses, flexing his fingers, "I would buy a fucking potato just to keep my hands warm."

"You don't like baked potatoes," Peter says, reasonably. Sirius patently ignores this, inching even closer to the fire.

"I mean," he continues, waving his hands like a madman despite the clear and present danger of third-degree burning, "how fair is it that this is our Guy Fawkes night? Not fair, I say. Not fair at all. I think my fingers are going to snap off."

Remus quirks an eyebrow at him but says nothing, his eyes focused on the flames licking the air. The crowds around them are humming with a gentle frivolity, ebbing and flowing towards the bonfire absently. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks are exploding. Behind him, James snorts.

"Should have bought gloves, then, genius," he says. His voice is sharp, a little taut, and Lily's hand is nestled firmly in his own, for once. Remus thinks it's a sign of the times. They're all a little taut, holding on a little too tight, these days.

Sirius looks pained. "James," he insists, imploring, "that is not the kind of concern I expect from a best mate at this time. We are brothers, man. Brothers! Your brother is about to lose his fingers, what a loss to womankind that would be, where is your compassion?"

James rolls his eyes and Sirius, pushed perhaps past the breaking point, reaches forward and shoves his hands underneath James's coat.

"Waah!" James shrieks, jumping about a foot in the air and spilling his hot cocoa on Peter's head. "You raging poofter! Your fingers are fucking cold!"

"Also, _ow_," says Peter, without much rancor.

"Sorry, mate." Sirius is speaking to Peter without looking round, his fingers still underneath James's coat. "At least it was warm, yeah?"

Peter glares at him half-heartedly for about half a second. "That helps, Padfoot, thank you," he says dryly. "I'm off to clean this up."

James makes a strangled noise of protest at Sirius's continued presence, and Lily is laughing next to Remus, watching them. "Lil," James whimpers, "you have to help me."

Lily raises her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, was that 'Lily, darling, love of my life, come defend my virtue, because I am not man enough to do it myself?'"

James makes another strangled noise of protest. Grinning, Remus says mildly, "Y'know, Lily, I think that's what I heard."

"Fine!" James shrieks, as Sirius shoves his hands further under the coat. "Fine, I am not man enough, help for the love of GOD help—"

Lily sighs and steps forward. "Hands off my man, Black," she says lightly, smacking him (with more force than is probably necessary) upside the head. Sirius pulls a face.

"Evans, you're no fun," he says, but steps away reluctantly.

"_Thank you,_" James cries with feeling, and grabs Lily, pulling her in for a passionate kiss.

"Oh, disgusting," Peter says, walking up behind them. The surrounding crowd seems to agree; Remus can't tell if they're drifting away because of the screaming a moment ago or the show being put on now, but either way, it's happening.

"Cold again," grumbles Sirius, next to him. Remus sighs and unwinds the scarf from around his neck.

"Idiot," he says, wrapping it around Sirius's neck and knotting it once. He doesn't let his hands linger for more than a second, but it's enough—Sirius glances at him with interest and then fails to look away.

Remus doesn't want to think about it, but it's been awhile; the war has been raging around them for a year now, and there are so many things they aren't saying, aren't doing. Sirius's touch is something he'd almost forgotten, and his own body is chapping in the wind from lack of use. Sometimes, in the gaping weeks where there is silence between them, when they are too busy to speak, let alone fuck, Remus thinks his voice will fade away, too out of practice to function.

"It really is kind of oppressive," Lily is saying, and Remus isn't sure if she's talking about the cold or the war, the Order or the price of petrol, but he doesn't care; he's too consumed with resisting the urge to grab and bite, to push Sirius into the flames and roll around until they are both consumed.

\--

Remus unlocks the door to his flat with shaking fingers. It is all he can do not to push Sirius against the wall right here, to take him in the stark emptiness of the hall.

Of course, Sirius is no help. His hands, never able to follow the rules of basic decorum, are a flexing temptation in Remus's back pocket. His mouth is too close to the back of Remus's bare neck and the door falls open quickly, but not quickly enough, so Remus is forced to spin around and drag Sirius into the flat mouth-to-mouth.

"Ungh," Sirius moans down Remus's throat, kicking the door shut behind him. Remus pushes him against the wall and slips a hand into his pants, curling cold fingers around his hip. They are stepping on Remus's heating bills and their breath, coming fast, is visible in the chilled air. Sirius makes a small noise.

"Shut up, Sirius," Remus says. To emphasize this point he shoves him harder, grinding against him. Sirius pulls away, gasping.

"I didn't say—" he begins, and Remus covers his mouth with his free hand.

"You were going to," he says, and then, because he knows what Sirius will use his voice to express (_It isn't anything, really, it doesn't make us gay, I just need something, it's not like we'd be doing this if things weren't so fucked up,_), he pulls out his wand and casts a silencing charm.

Sirius' eyes are wide, wide, and his mouth is opening and shutting like a fish out of water and Remus grinds into him again, his wand falling forgotten to the floor. "I don't want to _hear_ it," Remus growls. He pushes Sirius too hard; his head hits the wall with a sharp crack and Remus is almost sorry.

But not quite.

Sirius pushes back, their mouths twisting together, and they hit the floor clawing at each other with hungry roaming fingers. Remus, his body aching from the impact, shoves himself up and over Sirius, bearing down on him with predatory force.

"Take off your trousers," he says. Sirius opens his mouth to reply, his face screwing up with frustration when no sound comes out.

"Take off your _trousers_," Remus says again, his tone brooking no argument, and Sirius rips the buttons off his shirt instead. Remus's chest is cold in the unheated air and Sirius's mouth is slick, burning hot against it, and he thrusts uselessly into the covered expanse of Sirius's crotch.

"Your fucking trousers, Sirius," he snaps, and he could scream with need so he unzips them himself, pawing at them until they slip down far enough for access. Sirius is not wearing pants, which is probably a testament to his inability to do laundry, and Remus has never been so grateful for his stupid house-elf ridden upbringing. He wraps his hand too tightly around Sirius's dripping cock and Sirius arches helplessly against him, his throat flexing in cries of silent ecstasy. Remus grins wickedly down at him.

"Tell me how that feels," he hisses in Sirius ear, adjusting his grip. Sirius arches again and Remus can hear, can _hear_ him swearing and moaning, can feel the sounds he isn't making stirring in his blood. He grabs Sirius by the shoulder and flips him, slamming his chest into the floor.

"Maybe this will make you talk," he hisses, gutteral, and shoves into Sirius without preamble. It is so satisfying, the way his hands clench at empty air, the way he pushes up against Remus's chest so there is no space between them, the way his cock, caught again in Remus's hand, twitches and shakes with every thrust.

It can't last, Remus knows that. And soon, for all it is satisfying, Remus can't help but miss the moans and inanities that usually accompany Sirius' ragged breathing. He is going to come soon, his muscles are gathering for it, and Sirius is so close that Remus can feel him tensing.

"_Finite incantatem_" Remus gasps, and his desire is strong enough that his normally erratic wandless magic works perfectly.

"Fuck," Sirius cries, momentarily unable to control his volume. Remus jerks violently at the sudden sound, somehow unexpected, and this sends them both over the edge. Sirius moans, long and low, as they come simultaneously, crashing without ceremony to the floor.

"Fuck," Sirius repeats in a whisper, "Jesus, fuck, _Moony_," and then he falls silent. Remus doesn't say anything but smiles into the curve of Sirius's neck, leaving a sticky kiss as an afterthought.

They move slowly to the bed, and it's even colder in the bedroom, where two windows are subtly leaking heat. They curl together between the worn sheets and Remus knows, he knows, that Sirius won't be here in the morning.

But there will be a cup of tea steaming on the nightstand, and maybe even a piece of toast, and in a few days his heat will mysteriously come on. There are so many ways, Remus muses, to say the things they aren't saying, and Sirius's fingers close over his own in sleep like a declaration, like an apology.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this piece is a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson. I don't own it or him, I don't own these characters, and I don't claim to.


End file.
